Gemini Thunder by Chris Page

reed-thatch, and wooden-framed explosion of fires and smoke before their very eyes. After all, they still had an advantage in numbers. King Alfred, Edward de Gaini, and Hugh Easton cautioned against it. At killing odds of almost six to one, which had prevailed during the first attack, the Celtic forces could be wiped out. At least this way they could regroup. Winchester Castle was soundly built and could withstand a siege for a long time, providing they had plenty of food and water.
    Which they didn’t. Edward de Gaini reckoned, with tight rationing they could last four days and that would be without water because the Viking had dammed the only stream that supplied the castle.
    As Alfred said to de Gaini in an aside on the ramparts as they looked out over the carnage that was once Winchester. Religion hadn’t worked, fighting hadn’t worked, and that only left one thing . . . magic.
    Oh, for the calm and gifted presence of that veneficus again.
    Unseen, Twilight and Desmond walked among the celebrating campfires of the lowlanders. Boasting warriors bent their bodies in any number of attitudes, showing how they had repelled a thrust or delivered the death blow to an unfortunate Celt. While some drank the local mead, others ate the flesh of animals torn from the sizzling carcasses turning on the fires. Viking, it seemed, lived on a diet of pillaged ale and meat, a fighting and feasting society where, if they were not tearing the flesh from their opponents, they tore it from half-cooked animals and devoured it. Every one of them, whatever else they were doing, continuously sharpened their weapons. Twilight took care to keep away from Guthrum’s tent, which had the auras of Go-uan and Go-ian in it. Although he did not have an aura due to Merlin’s elimination of them in his final fight with the wolf woman, the twins had sensed the presence of him and Desmond in the clouds over their long ship.
    We will move now to the inside of the castle.
    Sitting high on the roof of the castle ramparts above all the guarding soldiers, Twilight and Desmond watched as a small group of priests emerged from the castle chapel. Gone were the silk vestments in favour of plain brown, floor-length robes with the cowls pulled down over the top half of their faces. Behind them, walking slowly to the accompaniment of a clear-voiced cantor, came Alfred, de Gaini, Easton, and a number of aides.
    ‘What are they doing?’ asked Desmond.
    ‘They have just had a burial ceremony for Septimus Godleman.’
    ‘He was killed in the battle?’
    ‘Sort of.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘Now, now,’ chided Twilight.
    ‘He called you a ‘purveyor of black sorcery’ and me your ‘disreputable companion.’ He also accused you of ‘low shamanism and trickery.’ So much for the protection he got from ‘God’s words and precious unction,’ whatever that is.’
    In the background the clear voice of the cantor faded around a corner.
    ‘Or was.’ The wizard of Wessex smiled, holding his arm up.
    Seconds later Bell, his lead pica, landed on his wrist, gave the claws-out salute of greeting, and chirped quietly at him. Twilight stroked his glossy head, then, pointing upward and motioning for silence, rendered all three of them invisible.
    Almost instantly, a dark shadow passed over them, thrown by a gliding sea eagle. It had been following Bell, homing in on the pica leader and getting ready to pounce. Four times it circled the castle before three powerful beats of its wings took it off into the night.
    I’ll be back shortly. Just taking Bell back to the safety of the compound out of the way of that murderous bird .
    ‘It was called Ran,’ said Twilight, rendering them both visible again. ‘Named after the wife of the Norse god of the ocean, Aegir. It was also the mate of Boma, the one I dispatched.’
    ‘Vicious-looking beast.’ Desmond shuddered. ‘I could see the moon shining on those talons. What did Bell want?’
    ‘I sent Tryggvason and his men to a remote